


Simple

by kyoufushi81



Series: sad things [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Engagement, Fluff, Future Fic, I'm not sorry, M/M, Unhappy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-27
Updated: 2015-03-27
Packaged: 2018-03-19 20:15:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3622824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyoufushi81/pseuds/kyoufushi81
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Love is something that should be simple. </p>
<p>For Hajime, it's everything but. </p>
<p>Or, IwaOi in 5 snapshots.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Simple

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ReeMiss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReeMiss/gifts).



> So, I wrote about 1000 words of this (the last part) and, one late night, when I was both very tired and very impatient, decided to post it. I deleted it later because I felt guilty about posting something unfinished, so here is the complete version! 
> 
> This is for ReeMiss, because her (am I right in assuming female?) comment made me smile. Seriously. Best. Commenter. Ever.
> 
> Anyways, enjoy!

                Love is something that should be simple. In math, it’s an equation- values that come together and complete each other; in music, a cadence- chords that connect to create something beautiful; in science, symbiosis- the codependency of two species for survival.

                But as far as Iwaizumi Hajime is concerned, it’s the very opposite of that. This complicated love of his can never be complete, because they’re both men, unable to conceive, unable to have a child of their own. This complicated love of his cannot be beautiful, because the dirty looks shot their way whenever they’re in public together can, in no way, mean anything good.

                This complicated love of his cannot be built on codependency, because it seems the person Oikawa Tooru needs _least_ in his life is his boyfriend. He’s a social butterfly- Hajime knows this, but it doesn’t – _can’t_ – stop him from feeling like he’s doing something wrong whenever Tooru goes out to dinner, goes dancing, goes anywhere without Hajime. He supposes it’s only fair, seeing as he might as well have signed up for it when he began dating Tooru –

                Tooru, who laughs when Hajime brings him gifts, and not in a good way –

                Tooru, who will come back some nights with his breath smelling like alcohol, leaving Hajime wondering what he’s been up to –

                Tooru, who is immature as a child, but at the same time wise as an old man –

                Tooru, who thinks Hajime doesn’t know that when they were in university, he’d get up in the middle of the night to study –

                Tooru, with whom Hajime can’t help but fall in love.

#

                Funnily enough, Tooru’s favourite colour isn’t something garish or electric- it’s blue, Hajime finds out, like the sky.

                “Um, do you have any engagement rings with, uh, blue diamond?”

                The attendant nods and bends down to the display cabinet, smiling like a parent with their child- knowingly. It takes a moment before she reemerges, holding three boxes. It’s kind of awkward, Hajime thinks, because it really looks like he’s being proposed to, the way she opens them for him to see.

                The first is basic- silver, probably, with a single small gem in the middle. It’s simple, and the least expensive of the three, but the gem glints and glitters sharply in the light. To anyone else, it doesn’t look like something Tooru would appreciate, but Hajime knows how much impact little things can have on him.

                The second is more elaborate – too elaborate, and too expensive even for Hajime, who’s been saving up for this since the end of high school – with two jewels rimming a third that Hajime worries will fall off. Tooru would definitely like this one, though. It’s a reflection of the way he acts in public: flashy and ornamental, with too much sparkle.

                The third one, though, is something different. Hajime feels like the more he stares at it, the more perfect it becomes; the more he can imagine it sitting on Tooru’s finger. It’s really cliché, too, he thinks, that the last one – the third one – ends up being the best, and that he can’t find any words for it other than-

                “This one’s the one, eh?” The attendant knows, too, maybe from the way he’s been staring at it, or maybe just experience. “Do you have a circumference?”

                “Uh, five-point-three centimeters, I think.”

                “Huh, you’re in luck! This one’s that exact size. I’ll go get it cleaned up with a box, and then I’ll check you out.”

                Sometimes, Hajime thinks as the attendant disappears into the back, love really is simple.

#

                “Tooru.”

                This is one of the rare evenings that they get to spend eating dinner together; when Tooru isn’t on some social outing and Hajime doesn’t have work. Hajime always cooks, because Tooru never learned how, and though he always grumbles about it, he likes cooking. He knows, too, that though Tooru complains about his food being under-seasoned and bland, he still eats it.

                Tooru pauses mid-bite, food falling out of his mouth, and Hajime grimaces. “How are you even a model with _those_ table manners? God, finish what’s in your mouth!”

                “Should I start calling you _mom_ , too, Iwa-chan?” teases Tooru after he swallows, and he grins.

                Hajime seethes silently for a moment. “Just- you have food on your back. Stand up.” Tooru does, and Hajime pretends to brush something off his shirt before reaching into his pocket.

                “You’re taking an awfully long time to wipe some- _oh, god_!”

                Hajime is kneeling in front of him, ring box in hand. His face is flushed scarlet, his gaze darting everywhere _but_ Tooru, and it’s barely audible when he says, “…marry me, Tooru?”

                But it must be a joke; _has_ to be a joke, because there’s no way Hajime is serious. And even though Tooru knows that Hajime loves him, a part of him still refuses to believe that head-smacking, shin-kicking, death-glaring Iwaizumi Hajime loves him. _There’s no way this is real_. If he pretends it never happened, it’ll go away, right? Like a bad dream.

(Except this dream is good and even better than that, because it’s what Tooru has been wishing for since high school.)

                So he sits back down, picks up his fork, and begins finishing his dinner, hoping Hajime will laugh it off and show him that the ring is plastic, that this is all a joke. But one, two, five minutes pass, and he still kneels there, blushing. Tooru sees him grimace and his knee begin trembling, and it’s only after a minute more passes that he realizes that-

                Holy shit.

                This is real.

                “…yes,” he whispers, and Hajime’s gaze snaps towards him. “Yes, Iwa-chan! I love you!”

                For maybe the first time in their entire relationship, it’s Hajime who initiates the kiss this time.

#

                “Say, Iwa-chan.” Tooru clings onto Hajime’s arm like a child, breathing quickly just so he can see the puffs of his breath in the air. “If one of us had to wear a dress, who do you think it would be?”

                Hajime rolls his eyes. “You, of course.”

                Tooru looks up expectantly. “Because?”

                “Because I’d never wear a dress. And besides,” he mumbles, “I think you’d look better in one, anyways.” He’s blushing now- Tooru can tell, even if he tries to pass it for the cold.

                “I think Iwa-chan would look pretty cute in a dress, don’t you think?” muses Tooru, and he giggles. “Hey, don’t chase me, Iwa-chan! There’s nothing wrong with wearing a dress!” Tooru is shrieking with laughter as he dashes away from a growling Hajime and onto the street.

                And then, the car appears, turning a corner out of nowhere.

                Tires squeal, a horn honks, and a sickening _crash_ floods the air before Hajime realizes Tooru isn’t at his side, isn’t anywhere to be seen. Because he’s lying on the ground, eyes closed and blood pooling like a halo around him. Hajime stands there for a moment before collapsing on his knees, wailing as he cradles Tooru’s head heavily in his lap. The driver glances at them nervously and whips out his phone to call for an ambulance, and though it should reassure him, it doesn’t. Because Tooru isn’t moving, he _isn’t moving_ , and they’re supposed to get married in two months, but-

                “We can’t, Tooru!” he screams, shaking the lifeless body. “How are we supposed to get married if you’re dead?”

                He refuses to leave Tooru’s side even when the paramedics tell him to move, and when they load the stretcher onto the ambulance. He has to be there, because Tooru needs him, is what he tells himself, but he knows.

                Hajime needs Tooru, too.

#

                When Hajime steps inside, Tooru looks like he’s sleeping, save for his eyes, which dart around the room like fireflies. His gaze falls on Hajime, and it’s startling how bright it is, like all the life that’s been drained from the rest of his body has been poured into his eyes.

                “…hey,” Hajime mutters, but it comes out sounding forced and choking. He hesitates for a moment before shuffling over to sit on the bed. “Uh, sorry I couldn’t visit earlier. The doctors wouldn’t let me.”

                Surprisingly, Tooru doesn’t chide him or even make a whining comment of “I was _so_ bored, Iwa-chan.” He motions towards Hajime with a small wiggle of his fingers instead, prompting the latter to take a few shaky steps to the edge of the bed.

                “You waited for me?” he asks. “The doctors said my surgery lasted nine hours. You waited that long?”

                “Yeah.” Hajime feels ready to cry, but he bites back the tears- it should be Tooru, not him, of all people, who’s crying.

                A pregnant pause. Then, “Thank you, Iwa-chan.”

                “H-Hey, Oikawa! When’d you get so sentimntal, huh?” His voice begins cracking, and the onset of tears is not far. Gulping nervously, he looks away, hoping Tooru hasn’t noticed, but, when it comes to Hajime, Tooru sees everything.

                “Sh, sh,” he coos, prompting Hajime to grasp his hand. “Don’t cry, Iwa-chan. You’re going to make me cry, you know?” This is when Hajime looks at him again, and realizes Tooru’s eyes are rimmed with barely controlled tears. Reaching out a hand, he wipes them away.

                It’s not long before they’re both crying, though, and neither bothers to wipe the trails of tears away. Minutes pass, filled with their ugly, blubbering sobs, until Tooru’s hand stops shaking. Hajime opens a bleary eye and looks at him.

                “What’s wrong, Oikawa?”

                Tooru’s voice is strangely quiet when he responds, “I have to tell you something, Iwa-chan.”

                “I’m listening.”

                “I really love you, Iwa-chan. I really, really love you.” He pauses, breathes in, and continues. “So please be happy, okay? I want my Iwa-chan to be happy.”

                Hajime sits there, dumbfounded, until he realizes the weight of Tooru’s words and gasps. “What’re you saying, Oikawa?” he snaps, and maybe it comes out sounding a little too annoyed, because Tooru’s eyes widen, just a little.

                “My life with you was the happiest life anyone could ever dream of, Hajime. I’ll always remember you, okay? You’ll,” and at this, he chokes back a small sob, “always be my number one ace!”

                “No- no, shut up, Oikawa! Don’t say that! Shut up!” he protests, but Tooru’s eyes are already closing, his grip falling lax.

                “I love you, Iwaizumi Hajime,” he whispers, slowly and softly, and gives Hajime’s hand one last squeeze before slumping against the sheets.

                “…no, no, no! Oikawa, you’ve played a lot of bad pranks in your life, but this is maybe the worst! Wake up, wake up!” He shakes Tooru’s lifeless shoulders frantically, desperately, and when that becomes futile, jabs the nurse call button one, two, three times before clutching the sheets, sobbing. Everything next happens in a rush- first, a squadron of doctors and nurses rush in, armed with a defibrillator, and push him out. He hears the cries of “clear!” and “try again!” from behind the closed door, hears Tooru’s ribs cracking as they try frantically to restart his heart. Then, all he feels is the floor –the cold, cold floor – as the sound of heels clacking comes closer, and he’s being hoisted up, slowly and painfully.

                He’s not sure how he falls asleep, but a thin layer of crust rims his eyes when he comes to, propped awkwardly on one of the plastic chairs in the waiting room. Looking around and rubbing his eyes, he sees two figures come into focus, which he recognizes as Tooru’s mother and sister.

                “Oh. You’re awake,” one of them says, and it’s indiscernible who the voice belongs to. Someone sits down next to him, and hands him a cup of pudding and a spoon.

                “...where’s Oikawa?” he asks, and they both stiffen up immediately. The pudding is opened for him, and a spoonful is forced into his mouth.

                “Eat first. We’ll tell you after.” It’s Tooru’s sister who speaks this time, and her voice is cracked and pained.

                “Where’s Oikawa?” He refuses the spoon of pudding, fastening his mouth like a petulant child, and stands up. “Where is he?”

                “We’re not telling you until you finish eating. You’re exhausted, Hajime.” He is.

                “I have to see him!” he cries, “I have to see Oikawa! I have to see him!” and tries to force himself out of the iron grip Tooru’s sister has him in, to no avail. Tears begin flowing, and he sits down, defeated. A few moments lapse, filled with only Hajime’s wracking sobs, before Tooru’s mother sighs.

                “He’s in a coma, Hajime. They’ve got him hooked up to life support. Of course, we’re going to donate his organs, but… we wanted you to have some last words with him first.” Hajime looks up, his cheeks tracked with tears, to see her motioning for him to go.

                He does.

                Tooru’s room looks no different from before, excepting the machines and tubes connected to Tooru’s husk of a body. His skin is peach with the blood running underneath, his hands folded neatly, restfully. He might as well be sleeping.

                But Hajime knows Oikawa Tooru is dead.

                “…look, Oikawa,” he whispers, and walks over, hesitatingly. “I _know_ you can hear me, okay? From somewhere in your dumbass brain, I know you can hear what I’m saying. So listen up, ‘cause I’m only going to say this once.”

                Maybe some part of him is still hoping that this is all a joke, all a prank, because he feels disappointed when Tooru’s eyes don’t flicker open, when his mouth doesn’t curve into a saccharine grin, when his voice doesn’t flower into peals of laughter.

                “I- I. Just came to say bye, I guess. This is- this is probably the shittiest thing you’ve ever done, but I guess it can’t be helped. Never change, okay?

                “I love you, Oikawa Tooru.”

                He kneels by the bedside, holds Tooru’s hand as they unplug the machine, as his skin turns icy cold, as his life fades away.

                “I love you.”


End file.
